


Halfway Home

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Humor, M/M, Slytherin Severus, magical au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3084758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts, a new order of Death Eaters, headed by Lucius Malfoy, is threatening to take over the Wizarding world by infiltrating the Wizarding institutions of Gringotts and the Wizengamot. They’re poised to parley, but insist on Harry Potter representing the Ministry. The problem is that Harry Potter has been gone from the Wizarding world for years. Desperate to find Harry, his friends approach Severus Snape, hoping that he can lure Harry back to them. But Severus Snape is a Slytherin, and Slytherins always have their own agendas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halfway Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sra_danvers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sra_danvers/gifts).



> Written to Prompt #31 for 2014 Secret Snarry on LJ/IJ/DW left by sradanvers: Years after the battle, Death Eaters are trying to rise up again. The Ministry needs Harry, but he's out in the Muggle world and doesn't want to know anything about the magic one. Harry's friends ask Severus for help, knowing that Harry had a crush on him. Severus goes undercover again and brings Harry by making him believe that he feels something for Harry. At the end, Severus will be truly in love with Harry.
> 
> Thanks to writcraft for the britpick, and for interviewing her cabbie on the way home from work one day to help me with Harry’s profession. And as always, thanks to badgerlady for her time and excellent proofing skills and to the mods for another great fest.

ooOoo

Severus Snape did not like people.

No. Revise that.

Severus Snape hated people.

He’d had to deal with enough of them in the forty-eight and a half years he’d spent, thus far, on the earth. People were, in his experience, rude, loud, greedy, evil, unpleasant, demanding, unruly and needy. Death Eaters, students, parents of said students, colleagues, neighbors and clients - each group as bad as the previous. The few people he’d found intriguing in life had all departed - most to death, but one or two to parts unknown.

So now that he had the luxury of choice - having won it with significant risk to life and limb and loss of a considerable amount of blood - he chose to keep the company of himself.

Brewing he could do alone, in the spacious laboratory he’d set up in the workshop at his cottage just outside of Godric’s Hollow. Albus Dumbledore had deeded the cottage to him before his death so that it wouldn’t be tied up in the Ministry’s certain scrutiny of his will. Keeping a shop in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, or even in the small Wizarding merchant district in Godric’s Hollow, would have brought in more Galleons than did his owl-order store, but while he could and did brew alone, he could hardly avoid people if he had to run a shop.

He made occasional forays into the Muggle district of Godric’s Hollow for groceries and supplies and, soon after taking up residence in the village, endured a measurement session with the proprietress of the very practical and cleverly named _Robes for all Occasions_. Madam Buss had kept those measurements on file for seven years now, and Severus strove to keep his weight and physique exactly the same so that he would never have to endure such a painfully embarrassing experience again. When he needed a new garment - a new pair of black trousers, for example, or a black waistcoat, or a practical black cape for the winter - he simply owled Madam Buss and the entire transaction was completed without his seeing another human being or uttering a single word.

He’d survived the attack upon himself by that ridiculous snake Nagini, but he’d nearly bled to death before Hamlet - the headmaster’s personal house-elf - had appeared to administer the anti-venom and bind his wounds. Hamlet had stayed out of sight until Potter, Granger and Weasley had gone. He didn’t think Potter would ever leave - he’d wasted precious seconds just staring into Potter’s eyes - those eyes that were so like his Lily’s. Severus, however, righteously angry as he was at his survival plans almost failing, did admit that he had to accept a tiny bit of blame for keeping Potter in the room until he had nearly bled out.

Potter was one of those people - the ones he’d found intriguing.

Clearing his name and gaining his freedom had been far easier than he’d have thought. He’d been in St. Mungo’s for weeks and weeks, and had managed to convince his healers that visitors be banned so as not to compromise further his already weak immune system. Thus, he was able to heal in peace and quiet until the very last day of his confinement, when, hours before his release, the still-intriguing Harry Potter appeared at his door beside the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He’d personally delivered the document, with all its appropriate stamps and seals, that declared Severus Snape free to go about his business as he wished.

Potter had extended his hand, and Severus, still overwhelmed at the import of the document, had hesitated a moment before extending his own, but had ultimately steeled himself and done it. They had shaken hands awkwardly, Potter’s hand clammy in his own, and he had chanced one more stolen look at those eyes.

Oddly, he didn’t recall Lily that time when he looked into them. Surprised, he’d pulled his hand away quickly - too quickly - and Potter had recoiled, then squared his shoulders resolutely, turned, and left the room.

And less than two years later, he left the Wizarding world altogether.

Snape later learned, from sorting through a variety of Wizarding publications and using the common sense with which he was generously gifted, that even though Potter had behaved admirably during those two years following the Final Battle, those who knew him best noted that he was increasingly distant. He attended every function required of him, gave testimony at Snape’s own hearing, and donated thousands of Galleons toward the rebuilding of Hogwarts. But according to his best friends, who gave what Snape considered to be an excellent interview, all told, to the _Quibbler_ , the deaths of Remus Lupin and his wife, Nymphadora Tonks, the orphaning of their infant son, and the death of Fred Weasley, sent the young hero into a depression that he could not escape. Ultimately, his friends supported his decision to leave the Wizarding world and seek his fortune, and remake his life, somewhere in Muggle Britain.

He left less than a week after the second Remembrance Day. His photograph appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ standing near the tomb of Albus Dumbledore, holding his small godson’s hand in his own. Snape found the photo oddly comforting, in a _life goes_ on sort of way. The remainder of the Wizarding world, however, found it horribly sad.

Snape was sure there was more to the story of Harry’s leaving, and sometimes wondered about it, and thought about those vivid green eyes, but in time was so established in his new routine that thoughts of Harry Potter became few and far between. He thought of him only on Halloween, that terrible day when Lily was taken from him forever, and on all the subsequent Remembrance Days, when Potter’s face, never aging, was still plastered all over the _Daily Prophet_. And he thought of him sometimes when he thought of Albus, and what he had given him, what he had sacrificed for him.

Thus it was the worst kind of surprise to find Potter’s best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, knocking at his cottage door on a sunny June day, ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Some quick maths told him that Potter’s friends were now 28 years old. His Who’s Knocking spell showed him that Granger, in fact, looked to be at least seven months pregnant, while Weasley had finally grown into his long limbs and grown out of half of his freckles. He considered not answering the door, and had decided to ignore it until they went away, when a well-placed Homenum Revelio spell swept through his sitting room.

“Snape, we know you’re in there!” Weasley’s voice sounded both authoritative and annoyed.

“Please, Professor - Headmaster, open the door. We need to talk with you.”

Snape sighed. He couldn’t deny that he’d been expecting this. The _Prophet_ had been reporting a rise in Death Eater activity for three years now, and the last few months brought even more troubling reports - not about attacks of Muggles and Muggle-borns, but a more insidious type of threat.

As two-thirds of the Aurors had been wiped out during the war, many of the current Aurors were no older than Granger and Weasley themselves. And while they were quite skilled at spellwork and defensive magic, no one knew what to do when this subversive faction began gaining enough control to influence Wizarding institutions like Gringotts, and Hogwarts, and even the Wizengamot itself.

Well, Severus didn’t know what to do, either, though he most certainly did know who was at the helm of the revived Death Eater organization. And no matter what he knew, or didn’t know, he wasn’t about to come out of his peaceful retirement to save the day - again. He was only marginally involved in the Wizarding world, one foot in the door just enough to keep it open, and didn’t want or need anything more.

He let the door swing open slowly, and was posed in a very disapproving posture when it opened far enough for the intruders to see him.

“Go away,” he said.

“Not on your life,” Weasley said, folding his arms and glaring right back at him. 

“Please - Professor. Headmaster.” Granger clearly had forgotten that he’d not been a professor in eleven years nor a headmaster in ten. “We only need a few minutes of your time.”

“A few minutes? Are you crazy, Hermione? It took you weeks to find him - it will take hours to bring him up to speed.”

Granger stepped on Weasley’s foot with a sensible low-heeled shoe. As sensible and low-heeled as it was, her swollen foot still seemed to be shoved into it like an over-stuffed sausage. Snape glanced at her approvingly as Weasley grunted and shut his mouth.

“Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger. I am not interested in ridding the Wizarding world of Death Eaters. There will always be evil in this world, and there will always be the need for someone to fight that evil. I, however, have done my part. I am retired from spying. Permanently. Good day.”

He meant to close the door, but Weasley’s oversized foot wedged itself between the frame and the door, effectively preventing Severus from closing it. He was a wizard, of course, and an accomplished one, so he simply erected an impenetrable invisible barrier behind the door and returned to his armchair and his perusal of Chaucer’s _Canterbury Tales._

The barrier was set back far enough that his unwanted visitors were able to step around the door and stand squished together on the tiny bit of tile that served as an entryway. Snape eased back into his chair, lifted his feet onto the ottoman and picked up his book.

“No one’s asking you to put this one to rights,” Weasley began. “They want Harry. The Death Eaters are demanding to see him, and the Ministry is trying to find him.”

Severus pretended to keep reading, even though this last bit of information was decidedly intriguing. He may have been a tiny bit put out that Granger and Weasley hadn’t come to recruit him to go undercover and join the Death Eaters, but he was able to put the hurt feelings aside as he contemplated the missing Potter.

“What Ron means, Professor, is that the Death Eaters have agreed to parley, and the Ministry has managed to get as firm a commitment as one can have on that, but they’ll only come to the table if Harry represents the Ministry himself.”

“It’s a trap,” Weasley groused. “They’re doing this to get Harry to show his face so they can kill him.”

“It’s not a trap,” countered Granger. “They know Harry’s been gone ten years. They believe they’ve asked for the impossible and they’ll gain lots of time waiting for the impossible to happen.”

“Malfoy is behind this,” Weasley said. He was looking around Snape’s home with interest, standing on tiptoe to peer into his kitchen, so Snape casually lifted his wand and turned the barrier an opaque smoky grey.

“Hey!”

One corner of Severus’ mouth twitched. He’d had no idea that seeing people - or not seeing them - could be so entertaining.

“Ha!”

Unbelievably, one of them - Granger, certainly - had shot off a transparency spell and managed to create a porthole window in the barrier.

“Professor, we’re here to ask you to convince Harry to come back. May we come in - please? We’ll be as quick as possible, really we will. I think you’ll understand if you just hear us out.”

“Do you know where Potter is?” he asked, eyes still fastened on the book he wasn’t really reading. He admitted he was more interested in Potter’s whereabouts than he should be, but told himself that it was only because no one else knew and the mystery was intriguing. Severus Snape loved knowing things that no one else knew. 

“No. I mean yes. Well, yes, but not exactly.”

“I don’t approve of you blaming Slytherins for every problem of the Wizarding world,” Severus commented, deliberately baiting Weasley. 

“What? Because I said Malfoy’s behind this? Well, he is. He’s not even trying to hide it. He’s the one that’s demanded that Harry appear to parley for the Ministry.”

The porthole Granger had made in the barrier began to cloud up again. 

“Professor!”

Severus went back to his book. He sincerely hoped they’d leave before Granger’s water broke.

ooOoo

The soft spot Severus had held for Draco Malfoy when the child was forced to take the Dark Mark, and was placed between an enormous rock and an extremely hard place, had hardened substantially over the years. Admittedly, Severus hadn’t seen any of his former students, Slytherins or otherwise, until Weasley and Granger had attempted to storm the castle the day before.

The appearance of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s sole progeny at his door intrigued him, but he was cautious after the events of the previous day, and held the boy at bay while he considered a course of action.

“Snape - let me in. Look - I promise it’s just me - Her - Granger and Weasley aren’t here. You and I can take care of this. Then you can go get Potter and bring him back so the Ministry can do something about my father.”

Severus took his time unwarding and unlocking the door. He wasn’t precisely sure what he would say to Draco Malfoy, but he was much more interested in how Draco Malfoy had turned out than he’d been in Granger and Weasley. He didn’t recall any engagement or wedding announcements. The Malfoy name had been decidedly absent from Wizarding periodicals, in fact, ever since the war ended.

The young man who stood on his doorstep had obviously retained the Malfoy breeding, if not the fortune. His clothes were stylish and well-fitting, but not terribly expensive. The boots on his feet were not dragonhide, nor snakeskin, but rather an ordinary, but highly polished, brown leather. His hair was no longer the near white of his childhood, having aged into a more respectable dark blond. It was cut in the shorter style the younger Wizarding generation preferred, or at least Severus surmised they preferred it from the photos and advertisements he saw in _The Daily Prophet._ He was not wearing robes over his trousers and shirt.

“Mr. Malfoy. I was under the impression you were leading a Death Eater revolt.”

“Good to see you, too, Professor,” Draco responded, stepping inside past Snape and waiting politely in the entryway while Snape closed the door and turned to face him. “And that would be my father, not me. But as Mother and I haven’t seen him in nearly six years, I can hardly take responsibility for his actions.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Snape moved past Draco and returned to his sitting room. He gestured at a chair, and sank down into his own comfortable wingback. “Whom, exactly, are you representing?”

“Well, that’s a bit of a loaded question now, isn’t it?” answered Draco with a smile that was almost a smirk. _Almost_ enough for Severus to believe he was dealing with his old Slytherin student and not a body double. “Myself, I suppose.”

Ah. A Slytherin answer for sure. That made Severus a good deal more comfortable.

“Go on,” he said, waving his hand and affecting an air of indifference he really did not feel.

“My father was given a rather odd punishment following the war,” Draco began as he settled into a chair, pulling the legs of his trousers up slightly at the knee with a polished gesture as he settled back. “His financial acumen was highly regarded and the Ministry was in a horrible mess after the Dark Lord’s spending spree.”

“And this never made the _Prophet_?” asked Severus, raising an eyebrow.

Draco smiled. “Father consulted from Azkaban. Consulted and managed to turn a twenty-year sentence into a four-year stay. Then, with complete knowledge and insight into the financial affairs and misfortunes of Wizarding Britain, he was released and promptly disappeared. Two years later, he’d managed to revive a small but very loyal and select group of sympathizers….”

“Death Eaters,” corrected Severus.

“Well, they’re calling themselves that now,” Draco admitted. “Very unoriginal. Completely old school. They’re nothing like the originals.”

“While I do enjoy a peaceful life away from the misfortunes of the Wizarding world, I do take _the Prophet_ and a few other publications,” Severus mused. “I don’t recall reading anything to suggest Muggles are being terrorized, or Dark Magic revived.”

“Oh, the attacks are much more sophisticated this time around,” Draco said, stretching out his legs and looking around the room, studying it with unveiled curiosity. “They’re targeted - precise. The intent is to gain control of the Wizarding world by acquiring property, assets, and ultimately, votes in the Wizengamot.”

“They can hardly buy their way to power with their resources stripped away by the Ministry after the war,” Severus argued, just to say something and keep the conversation moving while his brain worked to put together this very intriguing puzzle.

“Ah.” Draco steepled his fingers and gave him a hard smile. “What the Ministry didn’t take into consideration is that wizards and witches stripped of their fortunes were not wizards and witches stripped of their knowledge and experience. They’ve banded together and have regained much. They don’t need to take control by power and might. They can buy power, and they’ve amassed a sizable fortune and are close to gaining control of Gringotts, if the Ministry’s intelligence is right.”

“Gringotts.” Severus leaned forward. He could definitely see how Lucius and his cronies might have engineered a quiet takeover of the Wizarding world. He frowned. “But what of Potter? Why are they demanding Potter?” He managed to keep the interest - the emotion - from his voice and from his face. It would not do - not at all - to admit even the most remote concern about Harry Potter.

“The Ministry thinks they’re trying to buy time - to get the Ministry jumping through hoops while they secure their position even more firmly.” Draco relaxed into the chair, eyeing Severus with interest.

“You do not believe this. You believe there is more.”

“Because there _is_ more.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “You are aware that Potter inherited both the Potter name and the Black fortune, aren’t you?”

And the Knut dropped.

“Lucius needs the Black estate.” He frowned as he organized his thoughts. “He needs - not the money. The seat on the Wizengamot? What?”

“Hermione has actually done most of the brainwork on this,” Draco said. “You really should have let her come in yesterday - she’s not so bad once you get to know her.”

“Hermione?” Severus looked at Draco with renewed interest. “You associate with Granger enough to refer to her by her given name?”

Draco laughed. It was an easy laugh, more relaxed than Severus had ever heard him. He was ten years older than the last time Snape had seen him, but seemed ten years younger. “Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna - the whole crowd.” He looked at his hand and twisted a ring that until this instant Severus hadn’t noticed. “I married a Gryffindor, you know.”

Severus stared at the plain gold band. “Actually - no. I didn’t know. I don’t recall seeing an announcement in the _Prophet_.”

“Oh, we kept it low-key.” Draco changed the subject. “The Black estate does carry with it a critical seat on the Wizengamot. The seat is currently vacant, as Potter never bothered to explore the responsibilities that came with the fortune he inherited when he came of age. If I know my father - and I do - he’s after that seat. I believe he’s prepared to make Potter an offer for it - an offer Potter won’t be able to refuse.”

Severus gazed at Draco, keeping the carefully schooled uninterested look on his face. “Do tell,” he said, waving his hand as if the entire thing bored him and he just wanted Draco Malfoy to get on with it then be on his way.

Draco crossed his legs. “The Weasleys,” he said. “I believe Father is prepared to pull the rug out from under the entire Weasley family.”

Severus’ mouth twitched. Lucius was one clever bastard.

“So you believe he’ll demand the Black fortune in exchange for letting the Weasleys continue their overcrowded existence in the ancient family homestead? Potter would be a fool to agree - he could merely hand his fortune over to the red-headed league and walk back into obscurity.”

Draco shook his head. “In ten short years you’ve forgotten how my father operates?”

 _Ahhh_. Severus _had _forgotten. “Lucius has something else on them. On one of them at least. Something that may ruin their reputation as well. Blackmail.” He skewered Draco with his intense gaze but Draco actually seemed to enjoy the remembered scrutiny.__

__“I miss Slytherins,” Draco sighed._ _

__“So - what does he want from Potter, then?”_ _

__“If I am not mistaken - and I don’t believe I am - he wants it all - the Black inheritance, _and_ the Potter name.”_ _

__Severus stared at Draco._ _

__“He must not have it.”_ _

__Draco smiled. “Snape, I think you read my mind.”_ _

____

ooOoo

Slight alterations to his Wizarding garb made him presentable, and nearly invisible at night, in the Muggle world. Black trousers and boots, black shirt and waistcoat. Draco and Neville - he had nearly wet his pants when Draco’s Gryffindor spouse turned out to be Neville Longbottom - Draco and Neville insisted on a spot of colour. A very dark green necktie, tied looser than they preferred, was his compromise.

On the surface, he pretended that he was doing this thing - _helping_ \- because it was the right thing to do to prevent the rising Death Eater faction (though in his mind he could hardly even consider these people Death Eaters) from taking over the Wizarding world and once again causing the kinds of divisions that would tear apart the fabric of magical life across the country. He pretended it had nothing to do with his unvoiceable interest in the missing Harry Potter, and much more to do with his hatred (and jealousy) of Lucius Malfoy. He certainly made it very clear to all that it had nothing at all to do with Harry Potter, despite the most interesting information that had been revealed to him after Draco had procured his agreement to _try._

_Just try, Severus. Please. I might have softened to Gryffindors, but I don’t think I could bear having Harry Potter as my father-in-law._

Hmph.

Granger was a real concern, and Weasley along with her. Because they’d been with Potter that last year - the year he was on the run, hunting Horcruxes. They knew about...things. The silver doe. The memories. Good God - they’d probably seen those memories along with Potter.

If they had, they’d know quite a bit about his weak spot.

But they also knew something he hadn’t known until they’d all invaded his sitting room, the day after Draco’s visit. Granger and Weasley, Draco and Neville, Ginevra Weasley, the Lovegood girl. 

Ginevra Weasley _and_ the Lovegood girl.

They knew how Harry had felt about _him_.

He was acutely embarrassed to have Ginevra Weasley tell him, in front of the entire group, that her renewed relationship with Harry Potter had ended only six months after the Final Battle when he’d called out someone else’s name as he slept beside her after a round of lovemaking.

They all looked at Severus knowingly. Draco raised an eyebrow.

“He must have loved you, Headmaster Snape,” Lovegood had said then, looking at him with those immense, soulful eyes. She smiled at Ginevra and squeezed her hand. “Ginny was hurt, of course. After all, she’d just had intercourse with Harry for the first time. Of course they’d had oral sex before then, though Harry wasn’t very good at that at all, and really, it didn’t do a lot for Ginny either, though at the time she didn’t know how horrible he really was at it compared to me.”

Why was Severus the only one staring at Lovegood in horror?

“Alright then,” Granger said, her voice unnecessarily loud. She was obviously skilled in redirecting the conversation after announcements like these. “Let’s talk about where we think Harry might be, and what the plan is when Professor Snape finds him.”

That, at least, had diverted Lovegood’s trajectory, and Severus counted himself lucky to not having been treated to a specific rundown of ways Harry Potter had failed to please his partner. Instead, he had learned that all they really knew about Potter was that he was living somewhere in or around London, and most likely was a cabbie.

A cabbie? Harry Potter was a London cabbie?

Severus had scoffed.

“A licensed driver? Of a black cab?” He’d stared from one face to another. “You are aware - are you not - of the rigorous training required for this profession? The years of study required?”

They’d all stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“No?” offered Weasley.

He didn’t divulge that his father’s brother had been a London cabbie, and that as a child, it had been his secret dream to be one as well. He experienced an odd little thrill thinking of Harry Potter driving him about London in a black cab, staring at the back of Potter’s head, making small talk, Potter forced to be polite, professional….

“He meets us for dinner from time to time,” Granger explained. “At a little pub not too far from King’s Cross. This last year, I saw his badge - he slipped it under his jacket as he walked in, but I didn’t place it as a cabbie’s badge until I saw his receipt book sticking out of his coat pocket.”

They had offered little else - the name of the pub, what Potter had been wearing the last time they’d seen him, what he looked like with his new glasses and haircut. What they’d talked about - their friends, mostly, the Weasleys. That Harry had mentioned that he was thinking of taking some classes at uni. That he never talked about where he lived, or if it was a house, or a flat, or if he had a roommate. That to reach him, they had to call a phone number he’d provided and leave a voice mail message. He never answered the phone, but he’d phone back Hermione’s parents’ dental office. Sometimes. He hadn’t returned Hermione’s calls about the parley.

Owls didn’t reach him - they returned with the message undelivered. They didn’t dare try a Patronus, what with the attention the Ministry paid to the Statute of Secrecy of late.

Unfortunately, it had to be enough to go on, and Severus was nothing if not thorough. He began with a listing of all the places Potter might have known in London - Surrey and Privet Drive, St. Mungo’s, the Ministry, Grimmauld Place, King’s Cross Station, the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. He then started a list of potential pseudonyms by using key names of people Potter had known, banking on his sentimentality. Sirius and Remus were too unusual, as were Lupin and Tonks, but Black, Evans, James, Fred - even Dursley. 

Thus, with his great mind and keen strategizing, and even though London was a very big city with a great many cabs, it took him, in the end, less than a week to find Potter.

After all, he was extremely observant, extremely patient, and extremely clever.

After determining that Potter would most likely work in an area with which he’d had some familiarity, he calculated angles and trajectories, circled radiuses and intersections, triangulated routes and probabilities. In the end, he identified three suspect train stations. He planted himself on a bench by the taxi rank at the first one at three o’clock in the afternoon one Tuesday, dressed in his Muggle clothing, with a newspaper and a mobile phone he’d had Granger provide him, and a small travel bag at his feet. If Potter was working this area of London, he’d eventually drop off a fare at one of the train stations, and when he did, Severus would be ready.

The waiting was boring but the people-watching immensely intriguing.

He found Potter on the fourth day, at Euston Station.

Intently focused on his mission, he’d been watching the taxis come and go, discharging and picking up commuters, travelers and tourists. It was late, nearly dark already, when a cab discharged its passenger at the underground entrance to the station. The cabbie got out to haul the elderly woman’s bags out of the vehicle, and Snape, recognizing his target, and feeling a rather delightful frisson of danger course through his calm-of-late veins, immediately stood and joined the queue at the rank. 

After six years of watching Potter at Hogwarts, he’d have recognized him anywhere, even ten years older, even in Muggle clothing. 

Even without seeing Lily’s eyes.

Pity. They were such _lovely_ eyes.

Potter’s fare made her way slowly into the station and Potter got back in the cab and pulled forward to join the queue to pick up his next fare.

Severus calculated quickly and knew he’d not be to the front of the queue when Potter’s taxi was first in line.

A quick and well-timed _Confundus_ charm secured him the place in the queue he needed, so that when Potter’s taxi pulled up, he stepped forward, case in hand, opened the door and slid inside.

Snape waited for the taxi to move forward on the ramp up to the street before he spoke.

“Grimmauld Place,” he said, using his first-day-of-class low and sinister voice.

He watched Potter’s head twitch to the left as his eyes immediately scanned the rearview mirror. Their eyes met and, to his credit, Potter kept the cab moving forward even as he held Severus’ eyes. He pulled out onto Euston Road and eased into the traffic.

“Alright,” Potter said at last, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He was taking the sudden appearance of Severus Snape in his taxi far better than Snape had anticipated. “I’ll play along. But you’d better be able to pay the fare - in pounds, mind you. I don’t accept Galleons.”

“I will pay in pounds,” Snape said, looking out the window and affecting a distracted attitude. 

“How did you find me?” Potter asked after two full minutes of silence in which Snape bided his time, sometimes looking out the window, sometimes watching Potter’s profile, noting the reflection of passing lights in his eyeglasses. “No one knows where I am - what I do.”

“Happy accident?” suggested Snape, raising an eyebrow. He could see how intrigued Potter was, and how unsettled.

Potter laughed. “I’m not going back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I like what I do. I like driving this taxi. I’m happy here.”

“Good. I’m happy doing what I do, as well. I wouldn’t respond well at all to someone demanding I do something different.”

Potter stared into the mirror, green eyes wide, and Snape looked away, out the window again. Traffic was heavy, and the taxicab inched along, surrounded by the teeming life of London. Potter didn’t speak, but when Severus glanced at the mirror again, Potter’s eyes were on him.

“How did they get you to come?” Potter asked as the traffic stopped at a red light. He sounded too casual, trying too hard to show that he really didn’t care. His hands clutching the wheel, however, told Severus a different story.

“Turned on their Gryffindor charm,” drolled Severus.

A burst of laughter from Potter surprised Severus. He looked up again at the mirror.

“If charm was involved, you’ve been talking to Malfoy.”

Severus scoffed. “Draco Malfoy is certainly no Gryffindor.”

“Wait - they didn’t! No - they did! They got Draco to talk to you, didn’t they?” Potter sounded amused and somehow pleased. The taxi inched forward but the light turned red again before they made it through. “This thing with Neville and Draco has made him more Gryffindor and them more Slytherin.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “It’s a lethal combination.”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you? So where do you really want to be dropped off, as I can’t imagine what you’d do at Grimmauld Place?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” The corner of his mouth twitched and he saw Potter catch the movement in the mirror, then immediately look away.

“Look - I don’t know anything more than what they’ve told me in messages they’ve left for me. I don’t take the _Prophet_ and I don’t see anyone more than two or three times a year. And when I do, we don’t talk about the Wizarding world. I’m done with it. I have a new life and it’s good. I’m not Dumbledore’s man anymore, Snape.”

“Congratulations,” Snape said, managing to sound bored. He made a show of examining his fingernails, because he certainly did not want Potter to see the look of understanding that threatened to cross his face.

He could hear Potter take a deep breath and release it. Stress reduction technique - one he’d probably practiced countless times. “Come on, Snape. No games. Tell me what you want, then I’ll tell you no and drop you off at the Leaky so you can get back to - well, to wherever it is you live.”

“Godric’s Hollow, actually,” Snape provided. “You’ve heard of it?”

Once more, those Lily-green eyes slid over to stare at him through the mirror. It required a great deal of willpower to keep his own somewhere between uninterested and snarky. Yes, indeed. Severus Snape found himself quite a bit more interested than his general disposition would have indicated. Merlin, how he’d missed those eyes. It didn’t even seem to matter at all now that he found he’d missed them in Harry’s face instead of Lily’s.

“I’ve heard of it,” Potter replied. They drove on in silence for a few more minutes until Potter had efficiently navigated a traffic circle and was on a throughway. “Look - my friends do keep me up on some things, and one thing I know is that you keep a pretty low profile, Snape. You do owl-order potions and never show your face at any Wizarding function, including the Remembrance ceremonies. So I have two questions for you - how did they find you - and why?”

“I do not know how,” Snape answered after considering the question carefully. “I only know that it took them some time and considerable effort to do so, and that Granger appears to have done most of the investigative work. I live in a cottage gifted to me by Albus, and while it is not protected by the Fidelius Charm, it is...difficult...to locate.” Here he gave Potter a knowing look in the mirror. Potter looked away.

“Fine. _Why_ did they come to you, then?”

“You already know that,” Snape answered. “You’ve guessed - or surmised.”

Potter laughed. “They wanted you to find me. And there’s no possible way you had any more information about my whereabouts than they did, so they - they thought you’d be able to convince me to come back while they couldn’t….”

His voice trailed off and Severus saw his hands on the leather-wrapped steering wheel tighten, saw his knuckles grow white with the strain. 

“Ms. Granger glimpsed your badge, and your receipt book,” Severus said softly. “I then studied a map of London to determine areas where you’d have some familiarity, and then chose three train stations where I thought you, as a cabbie, might frequent. From there, it was only a waiting game.”

The fingers on the steering wheel flexed. Potter negotiated another traffic circle, eyes flicking back to the rearview mirror.

“But I had already agreed to try to find you before she provided me that information,” Severus continued. He gazed into the mirror until Potter looked up at it again. “Your friends, along with the Ministry, believe that you are the key to stop the rise of the new Death Eaters.”

“I’m not interested -”

“I am aware of that,” Severus said. “They do not, however, agree on why, exactly, you are the key, or even on what you need do to help.” He paused, frowning as he looked out the window. “This is the second time we’ve driven this particular traffic circle, Potter. Are you or are you not taking me to my requested destination?”

“Why would I do that?” asked Harry. He jerked the cab to the right abruptly and Severus swayed in his seat.

Severus sighed. Well, he hadn’t expected this to be easy - and it had already been far easier than any of them could have hoped. A bit of bluster by Potter could be tolerated and resolved.

“Because, Mr. Potter, you profess to have left the Wizarding world behind you, but you have your wand in your pocket and, if I have deduced correctly, Grimmauld Place is your home.”

The taxi jerked to the left.

“Furthermore,” continued Snape, watching the road ahead of them now as Potter’s agitation grew, “Your friends believe that my plan should be to ingratiate myself with you by professing my undying love, capitalizing on what they believe to be your unrequited love of me. I will woo you, perhaps wine and dine you, and lure you back into the Wizarding world because that is where I exist, albeit at the margins. And I won’t have to lure you to the Ministry, or convince you to help with the Death Eater problem. Because once you’re back - once I have located you, seduced you, pulled you back with me to the world you left ten years ago - your friends will do the rest of the work.”

“This is - this is fucked up,” Potter said, almost under his breath. 

“Mr. Potter - I did not come here to coerce you to join the Wizarding world again and solve all the problems it has created for itself.” Snape scooted toward the middle of the seat and leaned slightly forward. “Those are no longer your problems nor your responsibilities. I came to deliver a message, and with it an offer, and I’d prefer to do that in a comfortable room, with either tea in front of me or a glass of scotch in my hand. Your home will do. If you need to finish your shift, I prefer to stay with you until it is over, so drive me around to your heart’s content and I’ll settle with you then.”

“You aren’t going to let this be, are you?” Potter looked at him, not imploringly, but with a calculating look. Assessing him. Snape did not think Potter looked lovestruck in the least. He did not gaze at Severus with stars in his eyes, or even shy away in embarrassment over his feelings. In fact, if he had any feelings at all toward Severus now, they appeared to be feelings of frustration and resignation.

Had his friends totally misinterpreted Harry’s feelings toward him? Or were they remembering a different Harry Potter?

The latter - or so he hoped.

“Oh, no.” Severus was not ready to give up and let this be. No indeed. “I’m having far too much fun.” He rolled his eyes dramatically.

Potter considered, then nodded his head. “Alright then,” he said. “But this is going to cost you.”

ooOoo

Severus had, indeed, deduced that Potter lived at Grimmauld Place. Number twelve Grimmauld Place.

The fact that he lived at Twelve _C_ Grimmauld Place came as a bit of surprise.

The fact that Potter had brought him back here was quite encouraging.

Potter opened the front door with a modern key, then deactivated a security system in the foyer using a code that Severus didn’t bother to discern. 

“Don’t worry - Moody’s trap is long gone,” he joked as Severus looked around the foyer. Potter smiled wryly. “I’m going to ask you to keep this to yourself, Snape. I don’t want to move, but I will - if my friends or anyone else from the Wizarding world find me here.”

Severus looked at the directory beside the security panel, then over at Harry. Apparently, the ancient House of Black had been divided into six flats. “C” was currently inhabited by a Mr. Al James.

“They know where _I_ live now,” Severus groused. “I don’t see any reason to let them interrupt my peace and quiet while letting you be.”

Potter grinned. “They think I sold Grimmauld Place and donated the proceeds to the Hogwarts Restoration project,” he said. He patted the wall as he moved to the staircase. “And I did. I sold it to a Muggle firm that specializes in breaking up these old homes into flats while retaining their character. Then I let a couple years go by, waiting for a flat to open up.”

“They have absolutely no idea,” Severus mused as he followed Potter up the familiar stairs, knowing that his very presence here meant that on some level, Potter trusted him. He noted the absence of the house-elf heads gratefully, and wondered how Potter had managed to remove the portrait of Walburga Black. 

Potter was - surprising. Brilliant, really. His friends would never think to look for him here, living comfortably in a space that was both new and familiar. Surrounded by walls literally imbued with the magical residue of ages, but in a Muggle environment. Living away from the magical world but in familiar, comfortable territory at the same time.

It came as no surprise at all to Severus that the flat Harry inhabited had been built around Sirius’ and Regulus’ old rooms. The two rooms, an ancient bath, a small corner bedroom and a section of the corridor had been turned into a modern one-bedroom flat with a sitting room and galley kitchen. The sitting room looked out to the rear of the property and to a small and neat garden with benches and manicured beds. 

Potter lost no time in laying down the law. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a coat rack, then dropped his keys and mobile on a table along with the post he’d just picked up. Severus stood near the door, surveying the apartment, waiting for Potter to speak.

“Alright. You’re here. You’ve seen where I live. There’s nothing to stop you from telling everyone where I am. I’m just going to have to trust you not to. I - I think I can. Trust you. Because I have a feeling you value your privacy just as much as I do. That you understand where I’m coming from. That you must respect my choices.”

Severus glanced around the rooms again, then let out an undignified snort.

“Grimmauld Place! Potter - you’ve managed to hide right under their very noses.” He glanced at the fireplace, ornate and oversized, then into the kitchen. “Brilliant.”

Potter looked confused.

“Did you just call me brilliant?” he asked. “Because I think that’s what I heard, but I have to be mistaken.”

Severus scowled. He thought he’d muttered the word under his breath.

“I have no plans to tell anyone anything,” he said. He met Potter’s eyes appraisingly. “Once I stopped being Dumbledore’s man, I started being my own man as well.” He walked over to the center of the room where a sofa and a chair were arranged, both comfortably fronting the fireplace, and sat on the chair without invitation. “Perhaps, Mr. Potter, you could begin by telling me why you left the Wizarding world, and why you desire to remain apart, then I shall illuminate you on my own reasons for seeking you out.”

He watched Potter eye him speculatively, hands clasped behind his back, then walk slowly into the room and lower himself onto the sofa. He gazed at Severus, long enough for Severus to begin to feel uncomfortable, before he shook his head, still staring.

“You don’t look at all like I thought you’d look,” Potter said.

Severus raised an eyebrow. He didn’t comment on the fact that Potter had been spending any time at all considering anything about him, much less his appearance. It was the only the second thing so far that led credence to the highly doubtful information his friends had provided - that Potter had harboured a secret desire for him.

Preposterous.

Severus crossed his legs, relaxing back into the chair. “I don’t know what you mean. How did you expect I’d look?”

“Older,” Potter said with a fleeting smile. “The tie’s a nice touch. Hermione?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Longbottom. So tell me - what made you leave? What made you stay away?”

Potter glanced at the mantel clock.

“It’s complicated,” he said.

“Life is,” Severus countered. 

Potter glanced at him, that odd smile crossing his face and leaving it again. “You’re right,” he said. “So how about this - after the war, I was living under a magnifying lens. I wanted a different kind of life - where I wouldn’t be scrutinized. When things with Ginny fell apart, it was easy - well, easier - to fade away. To reinvent myself. I could never have this kind of life in the magical world. I could never be anonymous. They wanted me to be an Auror, you know. I’d have preferred working on the Knight Bus.”

Severus canted his head, gazing at Potter, understanding more than the man could possibly know. “You have friends here, then? Family? To replace those you gave up?”

Severus was baiting him, and apparently Harry knew it.

“My friends understood what I was doing and why,” he said. “And yes, I have friends here. As for family….” He shrugged. “Well, you can’t miss what you’ve never had.”

Severus could have argued that Potter had had - and lost - family. But he let the statement go.

“While I have no reason to doubt your explanation, there is certainly more to your story.” Severus glanced around the apartment again, wondering what exactly he was missing. Potter was entirely too comfortable with him to still be harbouring feelings such as those suggested by his friends. He did not examine the odd sense of _something_ that rose inside him at this thought. Something that was more like disappointment than relief.

“There is,” Potter admitted. He settled back into the sofa cushions and gazed at Severus almost long enough to make him uncomfortable. Finally, he grinned. He looked more like the Potter Severus remembered with that grin on his face - younger, less worldly wise. “Why don’t you just get it over with and tell me what my friends told you.”

“Please do not ask me to go into the same degree of detail that Miss Lovegood used in describing your ability to please Miss Weasley,” Severus deadpanned.

Potter threw his head back against the cushions and covered his eyes. “How many years ago was that? Nearly ten? And they’re still talking about it?” He shook his head, but he really didn’t look upset. He seemed more amused than anything, actually. 

“You’ve not given them anything new to discuss, have you?” Severus replied. “You’re Harry Potter - frozen in time.”

Potter shrugged. “Go on, then - what did they tell you?”

“That you liked me,” said Severus smoothly. “That you tried to deny it, the inexplicable attraction you felt for me. You resumed your relationship with Ms. Weasley, hoping to quench the flames of your desire. She was not enough, though, and she left you after you cried out my name in your sleep, after the throes of passion.”

Potter, this inexplicable, grown-up, larger-than-life Potter, laughed. His eyes twinkled. They reminded Severus of Albus’ eyes, but he’d never looked at Albus quite like he was looking at Potter. He’d never _thought_ of Albus the way he found himself thinking of Potter either.

“Quench the flames of my desire? Really?” He laughed again, and the sound of it tempted Severus to lose his poker face. “Alright. Fine. I liked you. Quite a bit, actually. Became a bit of an obsession. I didn’t have the guts to confront you back then and - no - let me finish.” He held his hand up as Severus started a retort. “I know it wouldn’t have gone anywhere and I’m glad I didn’t say anything. But it was just one more thing to add to the litany of things. Reasons.” He scrutinized Snape. “I’m not embarrassed by it, you know. Not anymore. I’ve come a long way. Being here - ” he gestured around himself, “in the Muggle world - well, it helps.”

“Helps?” Severus narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah. It helps.” Potter gave him a curious look. “No one is paying the least bit of attention to me. No one cares what I had for breakfast, or who I go out with, or who I sleep with. No one tries to interview me to find out what I think about Lucius Malfoy’s sentence, do they?”

“Who you sleep with?”

Had that just come out of Severus’ mouth? Had he actually just said that aloud?

“Whom?” Potter self-corrected.

Apparently so.

His lack of response must have unsettled Potter. It certainly didn’t make him hold his tongue.

“Who - Whom. Does it matter? What I’m trying to tell you is that I left the Wizarding world because I’d done my piece already, Snape. I did things - things I’m not proud of. I lost people I loved - watched them die right there in front of me. Sirius. Remus and Tonks. Moody. Fred and Colin and Lavender. Dobby.” He looked away, toward the fireplace, and lowered his voice, adding almost as an afterthought, “Dumbledore.”

Severus swallowed the defensive retort as Potter continued.

“I was only a year old when I lost my parents. When I was eleven, I watched Professor Quirrell die in front of me. At fourteen, it was Cedric Diggory. Sirius fell through the veil - right there in front of me again - when I was fifteen. I was sixteen when Dumbledore...fell. And I was only seventeen during the Battle of Hogwarts.” He stood and walked to the window, and spoke with his back turned to Severus. “I’ve been in the Muggle world eight years, Snape, and I’ve not yet seen anyone die, nor lost a single friend I’ve met here.”

Severus gazed at him, thinking that death was inevitable and Potter would eventually see more of it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Potter said. “But it’s been a good run and I’m enjoying it.”

“I told you I had a message to deliver, and an offer to make,” Severus said, looking away from Potter’s gaze.

“And you mentioned tea,” Potter said.

“Or something stronger.”

“Tea,” Potter said. “I’d like to have my wits about me.” He stood and went to the kitchen, but was back so quickly with the tea that Severus knew he’d used magic in its preparation.

“It’s not magic you dislike, then,” Severus said as they sat staring at each other a few minutes later. “You live in a home still imbued with the magic of generations. You carry your wand. You must have heated the water magically.”

“I love magic,” Harry said simply. He brought his mug to his lips and looked at Severus over the rim.

“And the Ministry can’t detect it here,” mused Severus, raising an eyebrow as he had the thought, and voiced it. “Not in the ancient House of Black.”

Potter bit back a smile. “Your message, Snape?”

“Is from your friends, of course, but I don’t know that you include Draco Malfoy in their number and I had a private visit from him as well. It was he, in fact, that convinced me to take on their cause.”

Potter didn’t comment on his friendship status with Malfoy. “So - something Malfoy knows, or told you, or something you deduced after speaking with him. That something is why you’re here.” He looked thoughtful, and Severus let him puzzle things out. When he continued, it was almost as if he were thinking aloud. “Hermione left a couple of messages - she asked if I’d consider just meeting with them - with the Ministry, I suppose - to help figure things out. To consider what the Death Eaters are demanding. For the sake of the Wizarding world that we worked so hard to save ten years ago.” He smiled to himself. “That’s all Hermione. But Malfoy - Malfoy’s got to have a personal stake in this somehow.”

“He does,” Severus answered. “And might I counter that _you_ had a personal stake as well, ten years ago?”

Potter’s eyes went wide. “As did you. I’d be wise to remember that - because you’ve got one now, as well, haven’t you?”

Severus stared at Potter.

He liked this Potter. 

This Potter stared back. This Potter wasn’t afraid of him. There was the beginning of a spark in this Potter’s eyes.

“My reputation precedes me,” Severus answered after a significant pause. “I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t.”

And he took a breath, and released it quietly, then met Potter’s eyes again.

And talked.

And Harry - Harry listened.

ooOoo

When Harry and Severus walked up to the phone booth entrance to the Ministry of Magic eleven days later, Severus was wearing the same Muggle suit he’d worn the day he slid into Potter’s taxi. This time, however, his shirt was white and his tie a dark crimson.

Potter was dressed nearly as formally, though his suit was modern and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He wasn’t wearing a tie at all. 

“It looks exactly the same after all this time,” Harry said. He patted the exterior of the booth fondly. Nervously. As if he needed something to do with his hands.

“You know as well as I do that very little changes in the Wizarding world,” Severus replied. He made a show of adjusting his tie, pulling the cuffs of his shirt out at his wrists. 

“Yeah - we’re about to blow that one out of the water, aren’t we?” Harry said. He sounded somewhat nervous - as well he should be, Severus thought. “Here - let me.”

He reached over and straightened Severus’ already-straight collar and brushed some invisible lint off his lapel. “Are you nervous?”

Severus straightened his shoulders. “A bit,” he admitted. “I haven’t shown my face in the Wizarding world in years, and am about to walk into the Ministry of Magic to get married.”

“I can’t believe I actually agreed to this,” Harry mused. “Though I can’t wait to see the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face when he realizes you’ve trumped him.”

“ _We’ve_ trumped him,” corrected Severus.

Harry nodded and exhaled slowly, then reached for the door of the phone booth. “You really didn’t tell anyone? Not even Malfoy?”

“What? And ruin the surprise?”

Harry grinned. “He’s not the only one who’s going to be surprised, you know.”

Severus scowled. “At least we’ve had some practice - telling that limpet of a human you referred to as ‘your boyfriend.’”

“ _Former_ boyfriend,” corrected Harry. “And he has a name, you know.”

“A weak name at best. One befitting his personality.”

“Hey!”

“Oh come now, Harry. Please. Hector Pinkwater?”

“Look - you can’t fault a bloke for his name. He didn’t make it up - his parents did. And really, Severus. Pot, kettle and all that?”

“My name is dignified,” Severus said with a sniff. “And I do not embrace my _former_ boyfriends when I see them at a café. Nor do I kiss them goodbye when they leave.”

Harry rolled his eyes and opened the phone booth door.

“And I certainly do not have their phone numbers stored ….”

“Severus - you don’t have a mobile,” Harry said with a sigh. He turned, leaning against the door of the booth and facing Severus. “Look - I just need to ask one more time, alright? What you think Malfoy has on the Weasleys - it’s not going to destroy them like he thinks it will? It’s not bad enough that I’d consider marrying him just to get him to keep his mouth shut? Now? After all these years?”

Severus nodded. “Draco knows his father, as do I. We both believe that he has something damning indeed - that he does not care in the least about ruining them financially….”

Harry scoffed.

“Draco says their fortunes have improved,” Severus reminded him.

“My friends - they’re not going to understand this, you know. Not at first.”

“No. They won’t.”

“They’ll wonder why I didn’t give the proxy to one of them, instead. Someone like Hermione, who has the brains for it.”

“Who is nearly exploding with child, and who, despite her intellect, is not cunning.”

“Is not a Slytherin, you mean,” Harry said.

The corner of Severus’ mouth rose slightly. Harry had spent enough time with him these past days to take the gesture for the smile it was meant to be.

“You said it, not I.” 

There were several core truths about Severus Snape. 

He had loved Lily Evans.

He hated Lucius Malfoy.

And he was Slytherin to the bone.

There were more things one could say truthfully about him, as well. He loved his privacy. He was keen and perceptive. He took advantage of opportunities presented to him. And he was, contrary to popular opinion, deeply human.

He may have come on this quest initially with a hidden hope that Potter still had feelings toward him. That the two self-marginalized wizards could find some personal common ground. That he could look into those green eyes every day. Every night. 

But upon finding a Potter who was friendly enough but who did not fling himself into Severus’ arms, he opted for Plan B. A Slytherin always had a Plan B.

Harry, who was still, fundamentally, the person he’d been ten years ago, but who had grown up in all the important ways, shook his head in mock exasperation. He pulled Severus by the arm.

“Come on - let’s go knock the socks off the Wizarding world.”

Severus followed him into the booth and they dialed their way down to the Ministry of Magic.

ooOoo

The parley took place at a neutral location agreed upon by both parties - a private conference room at a Marriott Hotel on Grosvenor Square in London.

The marriage had been conducted by a flabbergasted Ministry official who looked from the identification documents provided by the wand-weigher to the faces of the two men standing before him then back to the documents again. Behind him, at least three other employees of the Department of Records hadn’t even pretended to be doing their jobs, but stared in wide-eyed shock at Harry Potter and Severus Snape. One of the women stood up, pointing with a shaky hand.

Harry gave her a small wave.

“Hi, Daphne,” he said with a polite smile.

“Miss Greengrass,” acknowledged Snape, looking up from the document he was signing.

The documents were in order - of course they were - and a second set was procured in order to execute the requested name change.

They were back on the street a mere twenty minutes after their wands were weighed, with ample time to make the ten o’clock parley.

Severus secreted himself away as was the plan while Harry handed his wand over at the door and submitted to the security screening. 

“Oh my,” said Lucius Malfoy, pale eyes on Harry as he entered the room. “My, my, my. We’re going to have to do something about that ridiculous clothing, aren’t we?”

He exchanged a glance with the woman who sat at his side.

She smiled evilly and patted her teased and set hair.

If Harry’s looks could have killed, Dolores Umbridge would have died on the spot.

Harry took a seat across from Lucius Malfoy, and waited politely until Neville settled in beside him. He had no idea why his friends and Severus had chosen Neville to be his second, but Neville it was and he hadn’t argued. Malfoy pointedly ignored Neville, refusing to acknowledge that his son’s Gryffindor husband was in the room. 

A Ministry official explained - at length - the rules of the parley. A hotel employee settled an ancient and ornate tea service on the table and left the room. He didn’t seem at all taken aback by the odd group gathered there.

Lucius Malfoy looked - interesting. Interesting, anyway, if one liked fifty-something bleached blonds with pointy chins.

Harry reminded himself that he did not.

Lucius, invited to speak first, made it extraordinarily simple.

All subversive Death Eater activity would halt when Harry Potter agreed to marry him. He pushed over a stack of parchment several inches thick.

“The marriage contract,” he announced.

Beside him, Neville made a show of sputtering.

Harry glanced at the parchment, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. I might have considered it, seeing as I’ve totally forgotten how you housed Voldemort….”

Both Lucius and Umbridge cringed when he said the name.

“...in your home, and how my friends and I were locked up in your dungeons, though I’ve never quite forgotten how you cheated and gave the entire Slytherin Quidditch team new brooms.”

Harry folded his hands on the table and leaned in, lowering his voice.

“No. I won’t marry you. Marriage is off the table, Malfoy.”

Lucius Malfoy didn’t seem surprised. He had a small self-satisfied smile on his lips and he raked his eyes over Harry appraisingly.

“I’m afraid you will,” he said. “I have the power to take down anyone - everyone - with the keys the Ministry has unwittingly handed me.”

“Take them down, then,” Harry answered, loosely following the script they’d practiced. “I have enough money to share with everyone I care about.”

Lucius laughed. “No one you care about has enough money now to make a bit of difference. No - I’ll not take them down by stealing their _fortunes_ , Potter. I’ll take them down by ruining their reputations.”

Right. He’d been prepared for this, hadn’t he? He told himself there was nothing Lucius knew that would change how he felt about any of his friends, about any of the Weasleys.

“Let’s start with the Weasleys, then, shall we?” purred Lucius.

“The Weasleys are above reproach,” Harry said firmly, although he believed, just as firmly, that they were not.

“Percy Weasley is in my personal employ.”

Well, that one was easy. Percy, no matter his apparent reformation near the end, was forever making bad choices. Harry’d never liked him much and if they needed to throw a Weasley under the bus, Percy was his first choice.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Percy? I’m not going to marry you to save _Percy_.”

Lucius shrugged. “George Weasley has been supplying our operation with subversive materials for three years.”

Ouch. 

Harry kept the neutral expression on his face with sheer force of will.

“Well?” Malfoy nodded at the contract again. “Enter into this … arrangement … with me and that information will remain private.”

“Because I can trust you?” Harry asked sarcastically.

“I do realize you’ve been away from the Wizarding world for some time, Mr. Potter, but have you really forgotten about the power of magical contracts?”

Harry scowled. “George is a grown man who makes his own decisions,” he said with some difficulty. “He probably doesn’t even know that he’s supplying you - if it’s even true that he is.”

“Ah. We haven’t dug quite deep enough then, have we, Mr. Potter?” Beside him, Umbridge looked immensely pleased. So pleased that she was barely able to keep from giggling.

“Arthur Weasley frequents drag clubs.”

Harry blinked. He swallowed. He really should have been opening his mouth to deny this last vehemently, but unfortunately, he’d been in a few of these clubs himself and once, last year, he’d sworn he’d seen an Arthur look-alike drag queen.

“Arthur’s a grown man too,” he managed. “He’s - entitled to his fun.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not marrying you, Malfoy. If you want to parley, we’ll parley. But I reject your terms.”

“Fleur Weasley’s youngest child is not a Weasley at all,” Lucius announced quietly.

Harry raised his eyes. He hadn’t seen Bill in years and had no idea….”

“She’s a Malfoy.”

Beside him, Neville raised his head and tensed.

“Oh, come, come, Mr. Longbottom,” chided Malfoy. “I wouldn’t let that disappointment of a son of mine anywhere near such a lovely piece or arse as Fleur Weasley. It’s bad enough that that half-werewolf sleeps with her. No - the child is mine.”

“That’s easy to disprove,” Harry said, his heart sinking. Something like that would destroy the Weasleys from inside out.

“And just as easy to prove,” Malfoy countered.

Harry tried to keep his breathing even. He’d known this would be difficult. Extremely difficult. But they’d agreed that he’d draw this thing out, encourage Lucius Malfoy to lay his cards on the table. _All_ his cards.

“I haven’t seen Bill Weasley or Fleur for ten years,” he said. “I’ve only ever seen their eldest child.”

“You are playing hard to get, Mr. Potter.”

Harry glared. He sincerely hoped that this was all the dirt Malfoy had on the Weasleys. 

“Well, since I’ve already mentioned werewolves, let’s talk about Mr. Teddy Lupin,” Lucius continued. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Your godson, I believe?”

Harry bristled. _That_ was unexpected. And unforgivable. Of all the people in the Wizarding world, it was only Teddy he saw with any frequency. He met Andromeda once a month in London, and took Teddy for a day of zoo or museum visits, lunch out, walks in the park, rides on the Eye or on the boats in the Thames.

He felt a knot harden in the pit of his stomach. There was no way - no possible way - that Lucius Malfoy could know….

“There’s a reason that werewolves shouldn’t procreate,” Lucius continued. “And it turns out that Lupin’s progeny has more of his father in him than anyone suspected, especially with that whore of a mo -”

Harry was out of his chair in a second, but before he could release his anger on Malfoy by breaking his aristocratic nose, Neville had him from behind, pinning his arms to his side.

Proving his worth as Harry’s second.

“Ah - here you all are. I realize I’m tardy and do apologize.”

Severus Snape glided into the room, still wearing his Muggle wedding clothes.

“This is a closed meeting!” insisted Lucius, standing up and glaring at Snape as Snape took a position beside Harry and rested his right hand on Harry’s left shoulder.

“Ah. Of course. The proxy.”

Snape pulled a folded piece of parchment from his inside suit pocket in a gesture so smooth it looked as though he’d been wearing Muggle suits and secreting documents in them for years.

“Mr. Potter’s proxy. He’s given all decisions regarding his magical rights and property to me.”

“You?” Umbridge was standing now. “Why _you_? And why are you here? I thought you were dead.”

“You don’t read the paper, much, do you?” muttered Harry.

At that exact moment, a large and rather ruffled-looking barn owl flew into the room and dropped a newspaper on the table in front of Neville.

“Special edition of the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Neville said, pulling the parcel forward on the table and opening it with interest. “Draco and I pay extra for point-to-point delivery.”

Malfoy, however, was not listening. He was staring at the paper, mouth hanging open in a very unflattering way.

 ** _Missing Heroes Marry at Ministry_** the headline screamed in bold, four-inch letters.

“Look, Severus, our wedding photos have arrived,” Harry said with a brilliant smile as Neville, too, gaped at the paper. Beneath the headline was a slightly blurry animated photograph of Harry and Severus waiting in front of the counter in the Department of Records. As they stared at it, photo Harry raised his hand and waved at someone behind the counter and Severus looked up from the document he was signing.

Then real Harry leaned in and kissed real Severus on the mouth.

“He’s all yours, Mr. Potter,” he said. 

Severus squeezed Harry’s hand as he walked away, then settled into the chair vacated by his husband. He riffled through the contract on the table, frowned, then incinerated it with a quick flick of his wand. Finally, he looked up at the gobsmacked Malfoy and Umbridge.

“Now - where were we?”

ooOoo

It was not the re-entry into the Wizarding world that Severus had imagined, if he’d imagined any kind of re-entry at all.

But it came with a new name - for he’d taken on Potter’s surname along with the Black seat on the Wizengamot and the management of a portfolio of properties that had, frankly, languished in the years since Potter had come of age. And a new name made him feel somewhat different. He still disliked and distrusted people, but he was only obliged to spend one day at week at the Ministry. All the Wizengamot members had other responsibilities as well.

And while Teddy Lupin’s secret was safe - he might have a dormant gene for Lycanthropy but he wasn’t a full-fledged werewolf - Percy Weasley found himself out of a job and George lost one of his biggest customers. Percy, however, was soon re-deployed to Antarctica with Dolores Umbridge at a small Wizarding outpost that monitored the thickness of polar ice.

Taking down Lucius’ network hadn’t been as simple as showing him the Potter proxy. When he realized that the Potter name and the Black seat on the Wizengamot were no longer within his grasp, he broke parley and stormed from the room. Severus, who really didn’t care that it would embarrass or upset anyone, had promptly contacted Bill Weasley with the information about his wife and child. Fleur had broken down and confessed that Lucius, Polyjuiced into Bill, had seduced her and slept with her. The Polyjuice had worn off in their post-coital snuggling. Mortified, she’d been too humiliated to tell anyone, even when she found herself pregnant weeks later.

Malfoy had gone to prison for rape. It was a complicated case, filled with all sorts of testimony about whose DNA was in the semen a Polyjuiced body actually produced, but they’d managed to secure a conviction. And, as it turned out that both Polyjuicer and Polyjuicee contributed DNA, Malfoy was required to provide financially for the child.

Yes, Severus had, indeed, been busy.

And along with all of these changes, he had a new husband at home.

Well, not exactly at home.

It had all started as a business arrangement, after all. Severus had clearly seen an opportunity when Draco had laid it all out for him. The Potter name, still clean and respected after all these years. The Black family legacy, including the coveted family seat on the Wizengamot. Lucius Malfoy was seeking money, power, respect and fame. And a lovely piece of arse to go along with it.

Why should _he_ have it all?

The marriage, while one hundred percent legitimate in the eyes of Muggle and Wizarding law, was not exactly a marriage of two men devoted and in love. Severus had thought that it might be, when he conceived of the plan in the days before he went out to find Potter. But upon realizing that Potter’s boyhood crush must have faded, he’d quickly altered his plans and expectations and had moved to secure what he could.

They seemed to like each other well enough, but the kiss Harry had given Severus that morning at the hotel remained their only kiss for quite some time. Harry stayed at Grimmauld Place, drove his taxi, and had no more contact with the Wizarding world than he had before, except that now he met Severus every Thursday night for dinner. 

It felt a lot like two business partners getting together for dinner and to discuss merger and acquisition plans.

It felt a little like two old friends getting reacquainted.

It felt only a tiny bit like dating.

And while he had only these regularly scheduled weekly events with Potter, Potter’s friends now used him as a post owl to deliver messages to Potter.

Weasley, at least, hadn’t spoken to him for two months after he’d aired his family’s dirty laundry. He seemed especially enraged about the fishnets and long red wig. He might have come around sooner, but he had the new baby at home, a baby they’d named Hugo after a long-dead relative who would likely not be footing the child’s university bill. But even he had come around eventually, and was just as likely to pop his head into the fireplace as any of the others, wanting one message or other taken to Harry.

They _still_ didn’t know he was living at Grimmauld Place.

Oddly, the drop-ins by Draco, sometimes accompanied by the no-longer bumbling Neville, were not totally unwelcome.

“You should see other people, Severus,” Draco said to him one day, six months after Severus brought down the new Death Eater network. “Why live in seclusion like this? I’m sure Potter’s seeing someone….”

He trailed off as Severus’ face took on a peculiar shade somewhere between grey and red.

“Severus?” Draco conjured water in an empty tea mug and passed it to him. “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing,” Severus said, downing the liquid and attempting to get control of his emotions. He knew it! He knew Potter would eventually start seeing someone else now that Severus had managed to get that idiot Pinkwater transferred to Paris. “I’m perfectly fine. Just - warm. Hot. Overheated.”

“Overheated in December?” Draco stared at him, obviously running over the conversation in his head. “Wait - Potter. Dating. I said Potter was probably seeing someone else and you…” He broke out in a very Malfoy-like smile. “You’re jealous! You don’t want Potter going out with other men!”

“Well, we are married,” Severus snapped. “Do you want Longbottom seeing someone other than you?”

“No, because Neville and I are _really_ married,” Draco answered, looking at Snape with amusement. “We sleep together. We do intimate and very unsanitary things to each other. We even live in the same house. Together.”

“It shouldn’t matter,” Snape said sharply.

“Severus, does Potter know how you feel?” Draco crossed his legs and leaned back, the posture he always adopted when he was settling in for a long talk. Severus scowled at him.

“I was the one who suggested that we marry. I was the one who offered to take on the responsibility of his inheritances for him, so that he could continue in the life he’d taken up without having to worry about the Wizarding world falling down around his friends’ heads. I willingly serve as go-between with his friends on this side.”

“And why does Potter think you did all these things?”

Snape stared at Draco. “For myself,” he nearly spat out. “Greed. Revenge on Lucius.”

Draco persisted. “And why does he think these things?”

Severus groaned. “When I realized he didn’t seem to like me as much as you all insisted, I went to Plan B.”

Draco was shaking his head. “Not Plan B.”

Severus nodded. “Plan B.”

“So Plan B was, ‘If I can’t have Potter, I take everything else I can possibly get instead’?”

“You disapprove?”

“Of course not.” Draco gave him a sly smile. “If we Slytherins don’t get what we want, we get what we can.”

“I thought it would be enough, but it’s not,” groused Severus, horrified he was baring his soul to Draco.

“Are you convinced it’s enough for him?” Draco asked.

Snape stared at him. Convinced? No. He really had no idea. Their Thursday meetings were friendly enough, but reserved. As if they each were working very hard to maintain the status quo.

“Have you tried getting closer? Dropping in on him unexpectedly? Maybe asking him out?”

“Asking him out? We are married, Draco. I hardly can ask him out for supper.”

“Severus - do you really think he’d have agreed to marry you - in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds - if he really felt nothing for you and intended to keep seeing other blokes and going on with his life just exactly as it was?”

“You all insinuated that he liked me,” said Snape. “That he called out my name in his sleep.”

“Ten years ago,” Draco said. “Severus - a lot of time has gone by. He’s probably embarrassed by all that. You’re going to have to start all over again, and you’re going to have to make the first move. Tell him how you feel. Or take him to a film after dinner Thursday. Go for a walk. I don’t know - play chess. And don’t talk business, alright?”

Snape stared at him in confusion.

“And don’t wear that waistcoat. I bet you take off your robes and just throw a jacket over that old-fashioned thing….ah - you do. I can tell by the look on your face. Fine. Neville and I will be here Thursday before you leave. We’ll bring something for you to wear. No complaining.” He held up a hand. “None. And nothing sappy like flowers or wine. It’s too early for that. Ease into this - but you have to break out of this Thursday dinner routine.”

He’d agreed. Agreed with Draco Malfoy, his dating consultant. Oh why had he agreed?

Harry had to have known something was up the moment Snape walked into the restaurant in black trousers and a well-fitting green shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. He’d gone along with Snape’s suggestion that they take a walk after dinner. The next week, they’d gone to the cinema. The following week, Snape had dropped in on him on Tuesday night on a lark, spurred on by Neville and Draco, and had almost ruined everything when he found Pinkwater in Harry’s apartment, already fired from his job in Paris. 

Harry, to his credit, saw through Severus’ bluster and realized he was jealous.

That’s when things started to get more interesting.

Harry had worked all night New Year’s Eve, and Severus brought over lunch on New Year’s Day, and they’d watched telly and snacked and played chess in Harry’s flat. Severus fell asleep on the sofa sometime in the early evening while Harry was plucking away at an old acoustic guitar he’d pulled from a cupboard, and when he woke, found himself semi-entwined with a sleeping Harry Potter.

It was the best night’s sleep he’d had in years.

The following Thursday, Harry didn’t show up for dinner.

Severus waited thirty minutes before heading to Grimmauld Place, where he found Harry being thoroughly snogged by a man who was not Hector Pinkwater.

This man was attractive, and trim, with dark, messy hair.

“Out!” shouted Severus, who somehow found himself inside Harry’s flat even though he was relatively certain he hadn’t come in through the door. He was livid. He pulled the man off of Harry and hurled him - with surprising ease - toward the door. The man seemed to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Doppelganger spell,” Harry said, smiling at Severus as he straightened his collar. “Bit odd to get snogged by myself but worth it.” He let his eyes travel over Severus. “Decidedly worth it.”

“Doppelganger?” Snape stared at the spot on the floor where the doppelganger had disappeared, then turned to face Harry. “That was very Slytherin of you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said. He held up a hand as Severus stepped closer. “I’d really like to kiss you now, but you took so long to get here that I’ve been kissing myself for thirty minutes already and my lips are….”

Severus pulled him forward and kissed him anyway.

ooOoo

Somehow, they made it work.

Harry kept his day job, and started uni. He lived at Grimmauld Place, and no one knew where he was most of the time, except for Severus of course, who knew that and a great many other things as well.

Severus kept the cottage in Godric’s Hollow, and the Black seat on the Wizengamot, and a bit of his owl-order potions business. On rare occasions, Harry might be at his cottage when one or more of his friends Floo-called or dropped in, but Harry wasn’t eager to fully rejoin the Wizarding world. They’d talk, and laugh, and reminisce a bit, but when it was all said and done, it was Severus he wanted to spend his time with, Severus who’d remain the bridge between his two worlds.

And it was Severus he undressed that first night, not using magic at all. Severus whose trousers he unfastened. Severus whose shirt he unbuttoned. Severus’ prick that he kissed through the fabric of his pants, Severus’ bollocks that he weighed in his hands, sucked into his mouth, laved with his tongue. Severus that he worshipped, whose cock he rode that night, whose lips he kissed, whose name he whispered in the dark.

And it was Severus who leaned against the wall where Harry had stood, being kissed by that ruddy doppelganger, legs apart, eyes closed, hands carding through Harry’s hair. Severus who found himself precisely where he wanted to be, where he’d never thought he’d be. In a Grimmauld Place both familiar and foreign, in a bed that smelled of Harry, in a world both Muggle and magical.

Halfway in the Wizarding world with a respected position and a cozy cottage and potions to brew when he wanted, if he wanted. Halfway in the Muggle world with chess pieces that didn’t move and the telly and walks in London and black taxis and a very gifted husband whose tongue did as much magic as his wand.

And what Severus suspected, and what Harry already knew, and what both of them proved together, is that the Wizarding world really didn’t need them at all, and that they were both much happier on the fringes, enjoying the gift of magic in each other.

 

_Fin_


End file.
